


Strangers To The City We Live In

by Rhiuna_Rya



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Complication, Flash Fiction, Fluff, Food, Love, M/M, Pakistani-American, Quirks, Slash, Yaoi, ocd perhavior, series of ones shots, sesome - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiuna_Rya/pseuds/Rhiuna_Rya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots surrounding two people in Michigan, who happened to the city because of less than favored cercumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading this :)
> 
> I actually have a reader based question- I have a fully made main character whose POV you are reading, but I haven't decided on a name.

The first experience I had was through taste.  
  
Most people I meet, are with my eyes, or perhaps a voice.  
  
But he, he I met through taste at three a.m. in a diner I frequented nearly religiously even before I met him.  
  
American breakfast was a usual part of my mornings since I must to Michigan, away from my family.  
  
The food had always been good, but this morning wee hours of the morning; it tasted better.  
  
Something was different.  
  
So I guess our relationship started, at three a.m. over coffee and waffles.  
  
Without having even laid my eyes on him in a small beaten down hole in the wall, I had met him.  
  
No accidental brushes or glances over a coffee cup.  
  
Yet I could not think of any more perfect way to meet Sesome; his food was the pure and passionate love he shows to the world.  
  
So what better way to meet someone…To remember meeting someone I may love?


	2. Dislike of food does Not exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

“You hate kale,” I say, leaning against the entryway to his small apartment kitchen.

There he was, glaring at the dark leafy greens as if they would change into something more appealing. Long dark hair drawn into a bun, a loose lavender tank top, and black shorts. I may or may have not gotten this for him, I may or may not be more focused on his little outfit than the indignant expression twisting his face. The kitchen was the only place I ever saw a burning in those eyes of his, a burning of determination.

“I do not _dislike_ any food, I just have to figure out the right way to make it,” Sesome muttered, most likely inaudible. I had grown accustom to the phrase. At least he had  not thrown anything at the wall- yet.

“You’re allowed not to like food,” I reply, sliding behind him. Arms wrapping around his waist and resting my forehead on his shoulder. Eying his concoction, kale, oranges, lemons, and chopped almonds.

“There is no such thing. Just wrong preparation,” the voice was firm. It made me smile, I wished at times there was this same fire outside of the kitchen. I wish he were this confident, but for now I kissed the side of his head.

I’d lose this argument time after time, and it was one I’d happily a thousand more times. It meant he was alive, it meant he was striving, and it meant he felt safe with me. In these moments, I love him so and outside of them I love him so, but then I cannot see Sesome. Not truly, fragments floating and unable to glue them together cohesively. 

But int he kitchen, something unbroken something shines and shows me at least some of the man I love.Perhaps neurotic and warps, but not broken.

I hope to bring that past the kitchen, I hope that he can mend himself. At any rate, I’ll stay. I’ll stay to see all of the one I love, and _hope he allows me to._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques, Questions, and Kudos are all encouraged!


	3. Airport

**_I’m at the airport_ **

That was the only answer I got. A simple text message which in a way I was lucky. Sesome isn’t the greatest with phones. Or maybe its words in general he has trouble with. I didn’t bother calling he hadn’t answered my other ones the last two days. Which was not too strange but all the more unnerving. It was not the type of thing he did to be distant, it meant he was feeling distant and alone. Loneliness is crippling for Sesome, yet it seems he stays in it constantly if someone doesn’t try to step into his bubble. 

The relief that entered his eyes the first time I came to his apartment when he wasn’t answering the phone was enough. Sesome was strange, but I can’t seem to mind. I worry though, I worry about just how far Sesome’s loneliness will push him. Driving to the airport in the rain, I wasn’t expecting to see Sesome right outside the fence. Not even into the parking lot. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t raining and fifty degrees. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if Sesome’s lips weren’t blue, and he was just starting out at the planes as looking into the past. What he was seeing, I don’t know. Sesome’s psychiatrist explained it briefly, his spacing. He was not reliving the past, just remembering. Sometimes just for moments sometimes he’d be lost in it for hour. If not uninterrupted, he never seemed to notice the time in front of him passing. 

Putting my car in neutral I rush out to the side walk and pull him to me. He’s knocked out of the past, and gives me a look that I’d rather not see. He’s sorry. He’s sorry he worried me. Sesome’s nonverbal language took a while to learn. Some days I wish I had never learned it because Sesome doesn’t know he’s speaking. Very few people cared enough to try to learn, and those who cared… 

Being with Sesome means going to a place without asking to make sure he’s not standing in the rain, to telling him to undress and throw on your jacket and taking off your socks to try to warm his feet. Being with Sesome means those little smiles make your heart race a mile and a half to be shot down by those teary eyes.

Sesome’s psychiatrist said being with Sesome was not a good idea. I’m not looking to fix him though I’m not expecting him to be normal. I’m not expecting us to be more than friends sometimes and other times strangers when his eyes are glazed and lost. 

I’m at an airport.

Taking care of someone I love as a person, romantically or not. I can’t turn away. 

“I was thinking of the day I arrived here,”

**Author's Note:**

> So the main character who you are reading this from, is a third-generation American whose family is from Pakistan. I'm stuck on finding a Pakistani name that suits him and I was wondering if you as the readers could help me think of a wonderful name for this amazing character :).


End file.
